


you’ve got me on pins and needles

by jadore_hale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Stiles, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety Disorder, Crack-ish, Famous Stiles, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Nutty Geriatric Old People, POV Derek, Plant Children, Secret Identity, Tailor Derek Hale, Tailor Shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadore_hale/pseuds/jadore_hale
Summary: “At any rate, I’m not here to steal from you. One of the biggest potentially most important moments in my life is coming up and I find myself in need of a custom tux.”“A tuxedo?” Derek halted, then tried not to laugh as he gave the kid a good look up and down. “Biggest potentially most important moment of your life?”Derek picked up the broom and started sweeping, shaking his head. “If you need something for your little costume party, kid, rent something from party city.”✄✄✄✄✄Stiles Stilinski needs THE perfect suit and Derek Hale is just the tailor to make it for him. Only Derek doesn’t exactly know that Stiles is kind of a famous movie star…





	you’ve got me on pins and needles

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for [Sterek Reversebang](https://sterekreversebang.tumblr.com)
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://sixspades.tumblr.com/post/161485387282/sterek-reversebang-2017-heres-my-contribution) art done by [Sixspades](http://sixspades.tumblr.com/). I knew I had to write this the very second I saw it.
> 
> Also, cheers to the lovely SRB mods for putting on this event. Love doing these events with the sterek fandom x33
> 
> (P.S I was super hungover editing this and now I know what hell feels like.)
> 
> Russian translation available:[ Из-за тебя я как на иголках by Rinok](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5781933)

Derek wished he could say he loved his life. However, that didn’t necessarily mean he hated his current situation.

If you looked at it, he was immensely fortunate in a lot of aspects. It wasn’t like he was some poor soul who’d lost his entire family in a fire and lived in the burned down shell of his old home. That was a guy that had something to complain about. Nothing at all like Derek.

Truthfully, he was very content with where he was in life. Just sometimes, when he looked back on all his deferred dreams, he realized there was something missing. And if he wasn’t the one to realize it himself, well, he also had his meddling big sister there to tell him how much his life sucked.

“ACHOO!!”

“EW!!!” Laura shrieked.

“Yikes, that was a nasty one,” Derek acknowledged, grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose loudly. “Wanna see it?”

“NO!!!”

Derek showed her anyway, waving the soiled tissue in front of his laptop screen while they were on Skype, making Laura scream and wiggle away as if he was actually there in real life. Sure, they might be in their 40s, but they’d never break the habit of acting like small children.

“You have got to get out of that old, dusty tailor shop, baby brother!” Thus Laura’s usual nagging began, “Who knows what kind of damage that dust is doing to your lungs!”

“I clean every day,” Derek assured, balling up the used tissue in his hand and aiming it towards a trashcan in the corner, taking a shot and completely missing by a few feet. While he was severely disappointed with his lack of marksmanship, he was far too lazy to walk over and pick it up, so he just left it there.

“I just don’t think it’s healthy to hole yourself up in there,” Laura was saying. “Spending time in the sun will do your body good.”

Derek turned to the shop’s large front windows then. With the weather conditions having been so horrid lately, it was absolutely disgusting outside. Because 96 degrees of _blazing hot sun_ in _January_ is just wrong!! Then again, this was California. Still, with the world ending via global warming and such, there was no way Derek was stepping outside and risking skin cancer at his tender age.

Amongst the tiny population of Beacon Hills, California, Derek had to be its youngest resident and that was saying something. The entire town was positively geriatric. What once had been a town of thriving young people now resembled nothing more than a nursing home. Or a mortuary given how his fellow citizens had been dropping like flies lately.

No one was sure how the town had become this way. It certainly hadn’t been like that when Derek was growing up as he’d been very popular and had tons of young friends. It was like, one day, all his peers had packed up and left to chase new exciting lives while he stayed behind. Even the high school he used to go to had been shut down. Now, the only kids running around town were the badly dressed, punk, trouble-making miscreants who came to visit their grandparents.

Kind of like the one standing in front of Derek’s store right now.

“How are you ever going to meet anyone if you keep locking yourself away?” Laura asked. “Humans are social creatures!”

Derek pulled his eyes away from the skeevy-looking teenager pacing out on the sidewalk and said, “I talk to my customers.”

“WHAT CUSTOMERS!”

Okay, so business at the shop had been slow but that wouldn’t be the case forever. The Hale Stitching Company, more commonly abbreviated as Hale Stitched Co., was his grandfather’s pride and joy. Located in the heart of Beacon Hills, one could find Hale Stitched Co. nestled on the cozy cobblestoned main street between Gerard’s Medical Marijuana Dispensary and Dr. Deaton’s Adult Novelty Emporium.

The shop had been open for 75 years, family-owned-and-run starting with his grandfather who passed it down to his Uncle Peter who eventually passed it down to Derek. Growing up, his mother had been a seamstress there as well, and Derek remembers fondly him and his sisters getting into all sorts of shenanigans in their childhood.

“Er…I talk to my plants,” Derek tried next, picking up his laptop and angling it to get the three potted plants sitting on his windowsill into the frame.

“Dame Odette, Big Ethel, and Sir Mix-A-Lot don’t count,” Laura said flatly.

“Actually, it’s Monsieur Claude, Big Ethel, and Puff Daddy,” Derek corrected.

“You changed their names again?”

“I have nothing to do with it. They have their own minds.”

“Well, how come Big Ethel never gets a name change?” Laura challenged.

“Because she’s the only one that’s completely sure of herself,” Derek answered as if it wasn’t already obvious.

He was rather proud that he’d managed to keep his plant children alive for almost a whole year. He’d gotten the three of them on sale the day after Valentine’s Day, which goes without saying is his least favorite holiday. Of the three, Monsieur Claude, a Sweetheart Hoya with Parisian tendencies, had looked the most pathetic. Derek understood why when he saw that he was on sale for 70% off. Knowing that Derek wasn’t very good with most social interactions, Derek had bought Big Ethel and Puff Daddy to work as conversation buffers.

“You know Grandpa and Mom would never want you to live like this,” Laura sighed. “So what if the shop’s been open for 75 years! That doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice all hopes of love and happiness just to hold onto it!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Why must we always talk about my pathetic love life when there’s your sad miserable one?”

“Because I’m already married to my career. She and I have been in a very strong mutually exclusive relationship for more than 20 years.”

“Yes, but do you have sex?” Derek inquired.

“Course I don’t have sex! I work 168 hours a week! There’s no time for sex! I’m much more concerned about you. How are you even going to keep the shop open for generations to come if you never start your own family?”

Derek yawned. “Cora’s uterus is relatively young. I figured she could supply me heirs.”

Like the rest of the young folks who had once lived in Beacon Hills, Derek’s sisters had ventured far to fulfill their dreams. Those dreams had carried Laura to New York City where she became a wildly successful fashion designer who had her clothing line featured in magazines like Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar and displayed in Paris Fashion Week.

As for Cora, well her dreams had led her to….Er…Derek wasn’t really sure. All he knew was that Cora had run off to South America to raise alpacas for wool and was very successful in her own right. Derek figured she could use those mothering skills from raising alpacas to give Derek a niece or nephew who could take over the shop.

“Really, you’re resting the fate of Hale Stitched Co. on Cora who's been frolicking in the Andes mountains raising alpacas for the last 10 years?” Laura asked, voicing his thought process out loud. “I’m sorry to break it to you, little bro, but there’s nothing sexy going on in those mountains.”

Derek sighed, looking longingly out the window now, daring to risk going outside to be obliterated by UV radiation and greenhouse gases if that miscreant kid pacing in front of his shop didn’t shank him first. Anything to escape this conversation.

“Have I told you how much I cherish these little chats?” Derek said sweetly, ignoring his sister’s stern gaze then glanced at the clock. “Oh, it looks like our 10 minutes are up. Shame because I was really enjoying this.”

“Stay tuned,” Laura disclosed. “Next week, I’ll nag you some more about moving to New York and finding yourself a handsome fella to settle down and adopt a bunch of bratty kids with. Doesn’t that sound nice, Der?”

“He’s worthless to me unless he gives 24/7 blowjobs,” Derek muttered, hoping Laura’s ears wouldn’t pick up on it but had no such luck.

“Oh, I can find you someone that gives 24/7 blowjobs!” Laura cackled. “Don’t you worry. We’ll take care of your blue balls yet! I bet your right hand needs a long vacation.”

“Har Har.”

“Unless you go at it with the left which is a good choice too. Not as punishing.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Remember to use plenty of lube! Wouldn't want you to chafe!”

“Goodbye forever.”

“See you next week!”

Derek often wondered what good ol’ Sigmund Freud would say about his relationship with Laura, because as much as he loved and missed his sister, he hoped her weird investment into his personal life would end one day.

The bell over the entry door rang, signaling that a customer had walked in and Derek looked up to greet them somewhat—honestly, who was he kidding, he didn’t give a shit about customer service—when he saw that it was none other than that reprobate teenager from outside.

Wow, the kid had balls. None of the other too-cool-for-school little punks skateboarding on handicap ramps around town dared to come into Hale Stitched Co. Especially, not after having so obviously been caught casing the place. He seemed like one of the really fidgety types which made Derek suspect that he might be on drugs.

“Sorry, did I walk in on you watching porn or something,” the kid—who didn’t look so much like a kid up close—asked with a shaky laugh, no doubt eyeing Derek’s shitty, beat-up laptop. “And if I did, what kind of porn? Don’t worry, I won’t judge.”

Yeah, the kid was definitely on drugs.

“There’s no money in the register if you’re here to rob the place,” Derek said simply, closing the laptop and wedging it under his arm as he turned on his heels and walked to the back.

“Wait, wait _wait!_ ” The kid followed him all the way to the supply closet. “Is that seriously your store security plan? Say there’s no money in the register and hope the robbers won’t check? Cause if it is, it seriously sucks!”

Derek shrugged as he got out his cleaning supplies, grabbing a broom, a mop, and a bucket. He handed a feather duster to the kid since the kid had no real excuse to be there so Derek might as well put him to use. Kind of like a youth rehabilitation program.

The kid hastily followed him back out to the front, almost tripping over himself as Derek was moving fast, and said, “At any rate, I’m not here to steal from you. One of the biggest potentially most important moments in my life is coming up and I find myself in need of a custom tux.”

“A tuxedo?” Derek halted, then tried not to laugh as he gave the kid a good look up and down. “Biggest potentially most important moment of your life?”

Having been in the business for so many years, Derek felt like he could read a person well just from what they were wearing. The scuffed, dirty converse the kid had on his feet told him that he preferred comfort over style. His loose plaid shirt told Derek he wasn’t afraid of wacky colors or patterns. There was a giant tomato stain on his _“I’m straight…just kidding”_ t-shirt which gave Derek the impression that he liked to make a statement but was often crass about it. But what spoke to Derek the most was the ripped, washed-out, grass-stained denim jeans that were way too big for him and gave him chicken legs which basically screamed No. Fashion. Sense. At. All.

Now that Derek was getting a better look at him, he could see that the “kid” wasn’t even a kid at all, but a guy, probably in his early 20s, who still dressed like a high school freshman. Yet another classic case of someone not knowing how to dress for their age.

Derek picked up the broom and started sweeping, shaking his head. “If you need something for your little costume party, kid, rent something from party city.”

The guy snorted as he lightly ran the feather duster in his hand over some chairs. “Just how old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. Fifteen.”

“Fifteen! You think I look fifteen!” the guy cried, before swiftly composing himself and donning a rather convincing southern belle accent. “My, my, you flatter me, Sir. I knew all that Botox would do me good one day.”

The guy fluttered his surprisingly long eyelashes, using the duster in place of an elegant paper fan thus giving himself a full-out sneezing fit. Derek just took the duster from him for his own safety then went back to finishing sweeping and dumping the litter into the trashcan.

“So, is your boss in?” the guy asked in a congested, snotty voice. His eyes were still watering.

“My boss?” Derek cocked his head.

“The tailor.”

“I am the tailor,” Derek said dully. “The tailor is me.”

“What?! Really?!” The guy’s big brown eyes widened, eagerly roaming over Derek’s features. “This whole time I thought you were the sexy janitor! Aren’t tailors supposed to be super old and wrinkly? I guess if I look closely, you’ve got some gray in your hair and beard. But you really shouldn’t be trapped in here man. You’re still young and hot. It’s not right that you keep yourself cooped up in here when you could be out there finding someone that’ll give you blowjobs 24/7!”

Derek tried not to crack a smile at that, ignoring the coy sparkle in the guy’s eyes. “Overheard my conversation, did you?” he mumbled. “Cheeky.”

“So…” The guy took a deep breath in, puffing his cheeks, then exhaled all the air out. “If you’re the tailor, then I guess you’re the man I’ve got to talk to.”

“One would presume.”

“Please, please, please don’t turn me away!” The guy pleaded, suddenly dropping down onto his knees in front of Derek, giving Derek the worst second-hand embarrassment ever. “I have money! Lots and lots of money! Trust me, I can afford to go anywhere in the world but this needs to be completely unique. Like something no one has ever seen before! Kind of like the suits in the window!”

Derek paused at that because while the people in town appreciated Derek’s talent, it’s been a while since someone’s appreciated his artistry. Laura had fashion week. Cora had sheep. But Derek had a way of making every one of his suits unique, original, and impossible to copy.

“You’re serious about this?” Derek asked, seeing now the desperation on the guy’s face.

“As a heart attack!”

Derek crosses his arms over his chest and flexed his muscles, shifting his stance into one a club bouncer would use. With a deep voice, he said, “I’m going to need to see some ID.”

The guy groaned but stood, stomping his foot like a four-year-old as he dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slapped the license into Derek’s hand, muttering, “I can’t believe I’m being carded right now!”

“Stiles Stilinski?” Derek squinted as he inspected the California driver’s license. It wasn’t a very flattering picture that the DMV took. It didn’t do him justice as he was much more attractive in real life and wasn’t sporting an awkward buzz cut. Maybe he just wasn’t photogenic. Regardless, the license said the guy was 25 and it didn’t seem to be a fake. “Let me apologize for your parents.”

“Hey!! My parents don’t want to be apologized for and at least it’s a name you’ll never forget unlike yours...”

“Derek…”

Stiles murmured the name to himself and Derek found it funny that there was no sarcastic comeback.

“So will you do it,” Stiles asked, rocking back and forth on his heels anxiously.

Derek sighed. “You don’t have an appointment.”

Stiles glanced around, frowning. “There’s no one else here.”

“You still need an appointment,” Derek maintained.

“Alright? What’s the closest date you have available?”

“November of next year.”

“Excellent! Tomorrow morning at ten works great for me too.” Stiles clapped his hands together excitedly then pumped a fist in the air and did a little happy jig.

Derek chuckled and just observed. “How’d you hear about us anyway?”

“Us?” Stiles ceased in his celebrations. “You mean someone else works here besides you that isn’t as bad at this?”

“How’d you hear about _me_?” Derek emphasized.

Stiles blushed awkwardly for some reason, fidgeting like someone who’d just been put on the spot. “No one recommended me or anything. I’m not from here. Just a pit-stop on the long drive home. But I walked by and couldn’t help being blown away. I’ve never seen anything like them before and would be extremely proud to wear one. So, will you really do it?”

Derek nodded, offering a slight reassuring smile.

“Awesome! I’ll see you tomorrow morning!” Stiles said then spun around towards the door, almost knocking himself off kilter.

“Woah,” Derek grabbed his arm, half to keep him from leaving and half to stabilize him before he tumbled and fell. “Just where do you think you’re going? Someone’s got to mop up this floor.”

He handed Stiles a bucket and walked away. Youth rehabilitation wasn’t over just yet.

 

* * *

 

For obvious reasons, Derek was very skeptical about whether or not Stiles was actually going to show up the next morning. Sure, Stiles had seemed desperate enough the day before, but he hadn’t even told Derek what occasion he was going to be needing the tuxedo for.

A bespoke suit or tuxedo was a real commitment since it was completely custom and made with a particular client in mind. It could be very tedious and expensive. So, depending on the event, why not save on the cost and buy or rent a pre-made one? Although, Stiles had seemed rather confident about the money. He’d also said he could go anywhere in the world. So, just how did he come into such wealth at the age of 25…?

Basically, Derek wasn’t ruling out him being on drugs just yet.

Needless to say, Derek was fairly surprised when Stiles waltzed in, not just on time, but _early_. Derek didn’t like people who were early to appointments. He didn’t like people who were late to appointments either. Or people that were exactly on time, mainly because he just didn’t like people in general. _But_ people who were early were often sneaky, demanding, entitled pricks who thought they could decide when the appointment started just because they beat the wait.

That wasn’t the case at Hale Stitched Co. If you were early to an appointment, you were appropriately penalized by having to still wait until the exact time of your scheduled appointment while Derek pretended to be busy with things.

However, this punishment did not work well for Derek when the client was someone like Stiles. From his peripheral vision, Derek could see Stiles laid out in an uncomfortable looking pretzel position on one the shop’s old antique chaises. All of the furniture in the shop was antique and fragile since a lot of it was the original items his grandfather had bought back in the 1940’s when the doors first opened.

Derek had never worried much about how fragile the furniture was since most of his clients were the elderly who were very much frail and antiqued themselves. Now, faced with a clumsy, spastic 20-something year old who could not sit still and had no respect for antiques, Derek was immensely concerned.

Every time he heard the chaise groan and whine as Stiles kept refolding himself on it and switching positions, Derek couldn’t help but wince and feel his resolve slowly slipping. There were only two minutes left until their scheduled time, but at this point, Derek wasn’t sure who was really being punished here.

The poor furniture no doubt.

On top of it all, Stiles was obnoxiously chewing this piece of bubblegum that he kept popping noisily. The last straw was when Stiles had taken the gum _out of his mouth_ and tried to _stick it_ under one of the antique side tables. He hadn’t even tried to be sly about it. Derek just glared him into submission until Stiles got up and got a tissue then spit the gum out into the trash. In the whole vexing ordeal, Derek happened to notice that Stiles had a nice pouty mouth and also a lovely long neck that he wanted to wring.

Finally, the old grandfather clock sounded that it was time for their appointment and both of their sufferings could now end.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Derek said then, being more formal than necessary. He watched as Stiles jumped up and scrambled to get out of his seat, ungraceful limbs flying everywhere, and thought maybe he should be making a straitjacket, not a tuxedo.

“Oh, thank god!” Stiles exhaled dramatically. “I was just about to tell Yelp about this unbearably long wait. You should think about getting some new furniture. I was terrified the legs would give out on that rickety, old chaise you had me sitting on. That would’ve been quite the lawsuit on your hands. Trust me, I would’ve taken you for every penny.”

Derek ignored him as he ushered him over to the mirror. “Stand here. Keep your feet slightly apart. Don’t move.”

“Oh?” Stiles frowned, scrunching his brows. “Am I getting paid?”

“Excuse me?”

“Just the way you’re ordering me around, while extremely sexy, is also super rude. And since my job seems a lot more important than whatever it is you’re doing, I’m curious as to who will be facilitating my wages.”

Derek gave him a flat look then held out a hand. “Do you have anything in your pockets?”

“You’re no fun.” Stiles snickered and stuck out his tongue, handing Derek his keys, cellphone, and wallet.

Derek got himself situated, knowing that with a client like Stiles there was no keeping him in the same place for long. He stuck a pencil behind his ear, picked up the rolled up measuring tape, and put his glasses on. He was slightly farsighted and needed the glasses to see close detail. Too bad he could never hang onto the damn things, constantly losing them and having to buy a new pair.

He swung back around to Stiles, wanting to make quick work of this appointment and get as much done in as little time as possible when he heard a loud gasp.

“What the _fuck_ are those things on your face?!” Stiles cried.

Derek observed Stiles’ horrified look and blinked at him, unimpressed. “Are you, by chance, referring to my glasses?”

“Glasses?!” Stiles screamed. “You call those things glasses?! Glasses are supposed to make people look hideous, like Steve Urkel and Napoleon Dynamite! Yet, you put on glasses and get even hotter than you already are! How the fuck is that fair!”

It took a lot of effort for Derek to restrain from rolling his eyes so he got right to work, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“No, don’t push them up like that!” Stiles whined. “Oh god, I think I just came!” He actually whimpered and looked down at his crotch, pitching himself forward.

Derek grabbed him by his hips so he wouldn’t topple over then got in front of him to measure his chest. “Hold your arms out.”

“What’s the magic word?” Stiles sang.

“Do it now or I quit?” Derek sang back.

Stiles’ eyes widened and he snapped to do as he was told. Derek managed to get Stiles’ chest and stomach measurements in peaceful silence but knew that wouldn’t last very long.

“What do you need them for?

Derek looked up from where he was jotting down the measurements and raised a brow. “No one’s ever taught you what a tape measurer is for?”

“No, not the tape measurer,” Stiles huffed. “The glasses!”

“They tone down my social awkwardness and throw people off of the fact that, at night, I become a crime-fighting vigilante,” Derek said.

He moved on to measuring Stiles’ hips, ensuring that the tape was leveled completely around the largest part of the seat.

“Pretty nice, right?” Derek glanced up and caught Stiles waggling his brows.

It was.

“You’re no Kardashian,” Derek mumbled and moved on to his shoulders. “You know, for someone who dresses as awfully as you do, you’ve got excellent posture.”

 

 

   

 

 

 

_Art by[Sixspades](http://sixspades.tumblr.com/)_ _  
Plants from right to left: Big Ethel, Monsieur Claude, Puff Daddy._

“Golly,” Stiles pretended to swoon. “You sure know how to compliment a guy. Is that how you won over your husband or wife?”

Derek snorted. “There are easier ways to find out if I’m single, you know.”

“Are you single then?” Stiles asked, rather keen. “Because I think this whole exchange has been _oozing_ with sexual tension.”

Derek snorted. “I’m nothing if not a professional.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Yes, I’m single for the most part,” Derek replied. “Although, I did wake up married in Vegas once.”

Stiles scoffed, waving a hand. “Haven’t we all?”

“I’m also fifteen years older than you,” Derek felt it important to point out.

“Well, age is just a number.”

“Really?” Derek feigned shock. “I always thought it was a degenerative disease.”

Stiles grinned. “Learn something new every day.”

“Indeed,” Derek concurred.

When they were through with all the measuring, Derek brought Stiles over to his workbench to look over some fabrics and talk more specifics about the suit. He pulled a bunch of sample fabrics for Stiles to look at and watched him peruse. Even with his mind occupied, Stiles still twitched and jittered and fidgeted. It made Derek wonder if Stiles was even capable of relaxing.

“Have you had any thoughts about what fabrics you want?” Derek took his glasses off and used the handkerchief in his vest pocket to clean the lenses. “The style and fit? You never specified the event so I assume it’s a wedding you’ll be the ring bearer at.”

Stiles pursed his lips. “Yes, keep bringing up our age difference to convince yourself why you shouldn’t be attracted to me. I’m sure it’s really going to work for you.”

Derek put his glasses back on and looked over at Stiles and saw that instead of looking through the fabrics Derek had handed him, Stiles had pulled out a book and was diligently flipping through the pages.

“What is that?” Derek asked.

“A book on how to talk to my tailor,” Stiles replied, licking a finger and flipping to the next page.

“Give that to me.” Derek reached over and snatched it right from his hands, reading aloud, “ _The Macho Guy’s Guide to Talking Man-to-Man with Your Tailor_ by Hulk Hogan?”

Stiles threw his head back, howling with laughter. “That is so not the title!”

Obviously, it wasn’t the actual book title, but these sorts of Gentleman’s Club tailoring books were extremely misogynistic towards women. They always made the objective of having a suit made be to pick up women and become this impeccably-dressed playboy. They failed to mention the everyday man who wore the same suit jacket to work for years because of excellent tailoring. Or the fact that women liked to wear tuxedos too, like Derek’s celebrity crush Janelle Monáe.

Derek set the book down and informed Stiles, “I’ll need a 30% deposit from you today for the bespoke tuxedo. I should be able to finish it in 7 weeks time but that depends on how complicated you’d like it to be. Here are some more fabric options for you to look over. I’d ask that you do so quietly but, knowing you less than twenty-four hours, I’ve grasped that it’s impossible for you to do so.”

Stiles lasted all of two seconds before asking, “So how did you get into tailoring anyway?”

“Why do you ask?” Derek returned hesitantly.

“Just making friendly conversation,” Stiles said as he looked back and forth between two selections of wool.

“My grandfather was a tailor and opened this shop seventy-five years ago,” Derek said. “My mother was a seamstress here as well. It was inevitable that I pick up the trade.”

“Did your grandpa makes suits like the ones in the window?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “No, he was very fond of crisp, clean minimalism but I’ve always liked adding some flare.”

“Got any pets?” Stiles asked next.

Derek nodded towards the windowsill that held his plants. “Just Monsieur Claude, Big Ethel, and Puff Daddy over there.”

“Coolest place you’ve ever traveled?”

“The Great Barrier Reef…” Derek paused, eyeing Stiles suspiciously. “What’s with all the job interview questions?”

“Thought I’d knock out speed dating and visiting my tailor at the same time,” Stiles said simply then proceeded, “Favorite superhero?”

“Batman.”

“Least favorite dessert?”

“Lemon pie.”

“Favorite movie?”

“I don’t watch movies.”

Stiles gasped loudly like Derek had caused him physical pain. Derek heartrate actually picked up, somewhat frightened for him. “What do you mean you don’t watch movies?! What about TV?!”

“Don’t watch that either. I haven’t owned a television in years,” Derek confessed.

“But—But what about Netflix,” Stiles sputtered. “You have a computer, don’t you? I saw it yesterday!”

“I only use it to Skype my sister for 10 minutes every week.”

“I have a sister-in-law?!” Stiles asked giddily.

“Two,” Derek amended.

“I can’t believe you don’t watch movies! I can’t believe you don’t own a TV!”

Derek huffed, showing his age. “I like books. Kids these days don’t seem to read as much anymore.”

“That’s such bullshit. The Millennial generation probably reads more than any other generation before. It’s the media that likes to paint us as brain dead iPhone addicts.”

Derek raised a brow. “What’s your favorite book then?”

“ _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ by Zora Neale Hurston. It was my mom’s favorite book. She died when I was fourteen.”

“Oh,” Derek said. “I’m sorry.”

And he really was. He was fortunate to have had his mother for a long time. When she died from a sudden heart attack two years ago, Derek had lost a small part of himself as well, learning that no matter the age, losing a parent was one of the hardest things to face.

“It’s still hard to read that book sometimes knowing how much she enjoyed it,” Stiles said with a small smile.

Derek nodded, a little unsettled by the awkward quiet, so he asked Stiles a question, “Er…what’s your favorite salad dressing?”

They went back and forth with random questions after that until Stiles had gotten through all the fabric samples without liking a single one. “All of these fabrics are B-O-R-I-N-G. Not me at all!”

“A traditional tuxedo is intended to be minimalistic,” Derek explained. “Single breasted with peaked lapels and jetted besom pockets on the jacket, worn with a vest or a cummerbund and a close fitted pant. Colors shouldn’t be bright or loud; just a black, cream, or midnight blue. And a white shirt with a turndown or wing tipped collar. None of which you would know because you get your fashion advice from a book written by a retired professional wrestler.”

Stiles yawned at Derek’s rant and stretched his arms over his head, flashing a peek of his belly and happy trail.

“Wow! Bet that speech bored the hell out of you too,” Stiles remarked, “And from the suits I see in the window, you don’t adhere to strict rules either.”

Derek smirked as he pulled out the more interesting samples he usually kept secluded. “No, I guess don’t.”

 

* * *

 

In the four weeks since their initial consultation, Derek had gotten a lot of work done on Stiles’ tuxedo. And he was, dare he say it, a little excited about it. While Stiles was difficult in quite a few areas, he had enough decent traits to be a good client. He was very receptive to Derek’s ideas and understanding of his limitations. They did, however, argue, for quite some time, on why Derek wouldn’t be able to make Stiles an entire tuxedo in tartan plaid no matter how much it was Stiles’ _“tumblr aesthetic”_.

Eventually, he was able to wean Stiles away from his plaid-clad dreams with a much more understated and demure pattern. Stiles had stressed that he didn’t want this to look like any traditional tuxedo, which only made Derek all the more curious about where his work was being worn to. The only hint he had so far was when he’d joked about Stiles wearing the tuxedo to his own funeral and Stiles telling him that maybe he would since he’d be devastated and mortified if things didn’t work out the way he hoped. What Derek got from that was that this was some pretty high stakes, and so he tried to make the process as easy for Stiles as he could so he would have one less thing to worry about.

Now that the four weeks were up, Stiles was coming in for his first fitting and second appointment at Hale Stitched Co. Which would be a breath of fresh air for Derek after long days of dealing with a slew of stupid and ridiculous requests from his usual elderly demographic.

Kind of like _now_.

“Is for granddaughter! Birthday next week and I give as present! But dress too big for dolly, see!”

Derek stood behind the counter, face completely stoic as he stared at the crazy old Polish lady wondering if she was in her right mind.

“Dress keep falling and exposing dolly’s body parts. See!” Crazy Old Polish Lady demonstrated how the delicate dress fell down to expose more than a little bit of the dolls negligée. “Can’t give granddaughter dolly that is flashing titties! Give granddaughter bad ideas!”

Derek groaned inwardly, not sure how he was going to get out of this one. Though, a lot of his clients were people who used to visit his grandfather and his uncle, the newer ones who’d never witnessed Hale Stitched Co. at its peak seemed to think that Derek would do anything for money. Of course, they were right. Business was shit and he’d learned long ago how to put aside his pride. His attempts to maintain his mean reputation were always immediately tarnished the second he helped an old lady cross the road, or put her groceries in the car for her, or rush to her house and carry her naked-self out of the bathtub when she fell and almost broke a hip.

“Listen, I get it, Lady. I hear what you’re saying but this tailor shop only fits clothes for humans,” Derek said firmly. “If you want that dress altered, make an appointment at Toys R’ Us.”

“Is custom dolly made in Polska!” Crazy Old Polish Lady pleaded. “Dress is very delicate! Needs real professional touch!”

Even though Derek would much rather put his head through a wall than tailor a dress for a doll, he relented, “How much are you expecting to pay for these alterations?”

“Two dollars is good?” Crazy Old Polish Lady asked, pulling out a tiny coin purse and shaking it enticingly in Derek’s direction like it was actually something he wanted.

“Two dollars?!”

He was all for helping the elderly, often giving discounts or accepting payment in other manners, like food. But he was running a real business here. No time for charity in this case.

“Five dollars then?”

“What do you take me for, Lady!” Derek cried, refusing to bend on this.

“Well, what will you charge?” Crazy Old Polish Lady asked.

“At least $50 for this monumental waste of my time!!”

Crazy Old Polish Lady’s eyes widened as if Derek had asked her to shell out three grand. “Oh, no, no no! $50 is way too much!”

“Take your business somewhere else then!” Derek spat.

“Is no other place in town!” Crazy Old Polish Lady shouted, pointing an angry finger at Derek. “Would though because you are not nice boy and work you do is no good. I pay $10.”

“$50,” Derek maintained.

“$20,” Crazy Old Polish Lady haggled.

“$50.”

“$25.”

“$50,” Derek said again, this time very stern.

“Fine,” Crazy Old Polish Lady said tightly, raising her hands in surrender. “I pay what you want. Just have done fast and no titties!”

“Fine,” Derek said back just as tightly. “I want the full cash all in front.”

“Ah, that I can do,” Crazy Old Polish Lady riffled through her pocketbook to get her money. What she handed to Derek was a very colorful dollar bill in another currency.

“What the hell is this?” Derek asked, staring down at the foreign dollar. It was blue and had a long-bearded king on the face of it.

“Is $50 banknote,” she said dimly, “…in złoty.”

Derek threw the bill back at her and snapped, “I want $50 USD by the time you pick this chick up tomorrow or no deal!”

He grabbed the porcelain doll by her hair and stalked off towards his workbench in the foulest of moods, shoving his glasses onto his face.

“You are very cruel boy to old lady!” she cried after him. “Shame, shame!”

Derek’s mood didn’t lighten much after the old hag left. There was nothing like working with dainty, delicate cute and tiny clothing to make a grown man feel furious and absolutely inferior. In fact, he wished he’d charged her more after seeing all the intricacies of the dress. He did all the markings and cuts to the fabric then dropped down in front of his sewing machine in a blind rage. While he worked, he dreamed of ripping the doll’s head off and making her into a voodoo doll. Goddamn him for being such a good Samaritan.

The bell over the door rang again and Derek tensed for a moment, thinking Crazy Old Polish Lady had returned until Derek heard, in an actually decent imitation, “Lucy! Lucy, I’m home!”

Stiles stopped in his stride when he spotted Derek sitting at his bench and grinned. “Wow, I never thought seeing a man sitting behind a sewing machine would get me rock hard this fast.”

Derek rolled his eyes and was about to give a retort when a pretty redhead came barreling through the door with a tiny long-haired rat looking dog trailing on a leash behind her.

“Keep it in your pants, Stilinski,” she said. “The last thing we need is for your pants to fit too tight because of that tent in your crotch.”

She flounced over to the waiting area and plopped down in one of the chairs, crossing her legs, her little rat dog settling on the floor beside her feet. Derek wanted to tell her _“No Pets”_ but thought better of it since it seemed like no one was respecting his place of business today.

“So, what do you think, Lydia,” Stiles asked the girl, a hint of nervousness in his tone that made Derek wonder what the relationship was between him and this girl and why he so badly wanted her approval.

“I'm still not understanding why you dragged me out here in the middle of nowhere for a tux from a no-name tailor when I’d already booked you for a private fitting in Paris with Givenchy,” Lydia said plainly, petting the dog at her feet.

Stiles just pointed at Derek and did jazz hands.

Lydia sighed with resignation. “Now I understand why you dragged me out here to the middle of nowhere for a tux from a no-name tailor when I’d already booked you for a private fitting in Paris with Givenchy.” She gave Stiles a look of disgust. “Must all your life decisions be made by your penis?”

“No, but things just seem to work out that way,” Stiles said and walked over to sit beside her.

Derek turned off the sewing machine and put the doll’s dress aside. He looked at the grandfather clock and saw that once again, Stiles—and his guest—were early. Maybe it was a chronic condition with him. Who would’ve thought that someone who dressed so sloppily could be so punctual?

“I’ll be with you in just a minute,” Derek called and went to get the dressing room ready for the fitting.

“Christ, what a ridiculous wait!” he heard Lydia cry.

“I know, right!” Stiles joined in.

The younger generation was so impatient.

While Derek was going about laying out his supplies and pulling Stiles’ half-made tux from the racks, he could hear Stiles and Lydia whispering incessantly to each other in hushed tones. It was only when he went back out front to look for his blasted glasses that he heard just what they were whispering about.

“You know, it’s still not too late for me to call Tom Ford,” Lydia was saying. Derek had heard her name drop Givenchy before but hadn’t actually thought she was serious. However, now he wasn’t so sure. “I mean, do you have any idea how important this is? How special that night’s going to be? Does your bogus-no-name tailor know? Why even risk it?”

“He has a name. It’s Derek,” Stiles said defensively.

“Get serious, Stiles!” Lydia barked.

Stiles groaned and sagged in his chair, making the wood moan and beg for mercy. He pulled his hoodie up over his face, muffling, “Of course I know how important this night’s going to be. I just wish everyone would shut up about it. Besides, we don’t even know if I’ll—”

“You’re getting it,” Lydia cut him off.

“But—” Stiles sank even lower, making the chair send another loud screech through the air.

“People believe in you, Stiles,” Lydia told him. “Why can’t you believe in yourself?”

Stiles dropped his hood down and nodded, whispering, “I haven’t given him all the details. The guy doesn’t watch movies or TV but I know he’ll do a great job.”

“He doesn’t even know?! Oh, this is going to be a total train wreck,” Lydia said, her voice rising above a whisper which had Stiles nudging her with an elbow and her yelping in pain then nudging him back.

Derek thought now was the best time to break the two children apart before the biting and hair pulling began. Especially, now that he’d located his glasses which were, as it were, already on his face.

“You can come on back now,” Derek waved them over and led them through to the dressing rooms.

Derek wasn’t one to waste any time on things like pleasantries, so he handed Stiles the tux and shoved him into one of the stalls. He expressed explicitly to Stiles that he needed to be very careful getting into it because Derek certainly didn’t need him ripping anything. He and Lydia didn’t exactly make small talk as they stood there waiting for Stiles to change, but she did introduce herself.

“Lydia Martin.” She held her hand out for Derek to shake like she was the Queen of England or something. “Personal stylist and best friend of Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek hiked a brow at that. “Really? Personal stylist?”

Lydia frowned, her frilly feathers definitely ruffled. “Well, it’s not like I dress him every day. I try, okay.”

Maybe instead of insulting her right out, Derek could’ve asked her what the tuxedo was being made for since it all seemed to be so top secret. But now all he could feel was contempt from her as she gave her dog, Prada, a treat every time it growled at Derek.

Miraculously, Stiles made it out of the dressing room stall with no causalities and took one look in the mirror and said, “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

Derek wasn’t sure at first if that was a negative ‘you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me’ or a positive ‘you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me’ but assumed the latter when he saw how Stiles kept glancing at himself in the mirror.

The tuxedo was only half made but already looked stunning on Stiles. With properly fitted clothing, you could see that Stiles didn’t really look that young and scrawny at all. His broad shoulders filled the jacket nicely and the slim fit showed that he actually had a little muscle on those bag of bones.

Derek had forgotten Lydia was there as he eyed his work, already noticing problem areas that needed to be fixed, but she too seemed to be only admiring the tuxedo as Stiles gave it a spin around.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” she said to Derek, though still giving Prada treats when it growled at Derek.

“How’s the fit?” Derek asked Stiles as he circled around him and began measuring, pinning, and marking for tweaks.

“Perfect,” Stiles said. “Totally accentuates my girlish curves.”

While he was glad Stiles was happy with the progress they’d made so far with the tuxedo, there was still a lot left to be done. Stiles still had to make some choices on a few minor details and get all concerns out of the way before the second and final fitting. For some reason, Derek had expected this to go smoothly and for them to be done in a flash, however, that wasn’t the case when Lydia Martin was present.

“So we agree with a full break for the pants?” Derek questioned.

They’d been talking about these damn pants for the last half hour.

“No, that’ll look sloppy with the statement coat,” Lydia opposed. “No break on the pants.”

“You want him walking around in flood pants flashing those skinny pale ankles?” Derek scoffed. “I don’t do high-waters.”

“It’s what’s on the runways this season,” Lydia countered.

Derek would have to check with Laura on that. Their grandfather would be rolling in his grave if Laura’s line featured anything like that.

“Yeah, all the rage for idiot hipsters,” Derek argued. “My suits are made for longevity. What’s trending now won’t be so popular in a few years.”

“With no breaks, we could give the shoes a moment to shine,” Lydia contemplated. “We won’t go with anything too busy obviously but I think everything should be highlighted.”

“That’s too distracting,” Derek disagreed.

“No, it’s not. It’s chic!”

“Do you want to know what I think?” Stiles asked as he’d been standing there in between them for a while now.

“No!” Lydia and Derek shouted in unison.

“I’m willing to go half break on the pants if you are,” Derek offered.

Lydia tapped a finger on her chin, humming, “Yes, that works for me, however, the fabric on the lapels has got to change. The satin looks way too costumey.”

“Costumey?” Derek was sure a vein in his forehead was about to explode. “If anything, it makes it look more expensive.”

“I think it clashes. It doesn’t look right.”

“It looks perfectly fine,” Derek maintained. “You’re just nitpicking.”

“Nitpicking?” Lydia argued. “With the pattern of the coat, it’s a terrible choice.”

“Well, what would you have picked?” Derek challenged.

Lydia paused for a moment and thought on that then said, “A velvet would be much more appropriate.”

“Velvet?” Derek wanted to disagree but stopped, really thinking that over. “...I kinda like that.”

Although Lydia was totally compromising his artistic license, some of her feedback from today had actually been insightful and really made him reassess some of his choices. Derek could imagine her being good at this stylist job if Stiles wasn’t the client.

“Good!” Lydia clapped her hands together. “Glad that’s all solved. Aside from those minor issues, the tux looks marvelous. I have to say I can’t believe Stiles really pulled this off. He usually doesn’t have very good taste.”

“I know,” Derek chuckled. “I could tell as soon as he walked into my shop with those disgusting converses.”

“Oh god,” Lydia slapped a palm over her face. “I wish he’d let me throw them away. I want to burn every ironic t-shirt he’s got in his closet too.”

“Set fire to the plaids while you’re at it,” Derek encouraged.

“Do you know he still gets grass stains on his pants?” Lydia divulged. “Like he’s a toddler on a playground!”

“He showed up to our first appointment with a giant tomato stain on his t-shirt,” Derek recalled. “People like that should always wear a bib.”

“I’m standing right here, you pretentious fucks!” Stiles shouted loudly, startling them both.

Lydia’s phone buzzed in her hand and she glanced down at it and said, “Oh good. Stiles, Liam’s here. We should hurry up and head back to L.A. I’ve got a ton of work to do and you’ve got—”

“Nothing scheduled at all,” Stiles interjected, giving her an indistinguishable look.

“But Allison said you have all these—”

“Vast amounts of free time?” Stiles posed. “Yes, I know it’s crazy how dull my life is. I should probably just hang out here for another day in case Derek needs me for anything then I’ll head back.”

Lydia only shook her head, looking at Stiles with pity. “Penis making important life decisions for you once again. Alright.” She held her hands up in surrender. “It’s your funeral when Allison finds out. Bye, boys. Come along, Prada.”

“Like I’m scared of Allison,” Stiles muttered as Lydia walked off with the little dog prancing behind her. However, once the door had safely shut behind her, Stiles asked, “Think you could make the suit bulletproof if I throw in a little extra change?”

Derek ignored him and shoved him towards the dressing room stalls again. “C’mon, hurry up and get out of that before you somehow magically spill something on it or something.”

Stiles clicked his tongue in mock offense. “Ye of little faith!”

Technically, the whole thing Stiles said to Lydia about hanging around didn’t really make any sense since Derek didn’t really need him there while he worked. If anything, Stiles served more as a distraction. Like a little kid running around with scissors distraction. Derek had to keep redirecting him and putting away any hazards just so he wouldn’t hurt himself. It was far more a hassle than a benefit. Yet, oddly, Derek didn’t mind his being there, even when he started asking a million speed dating questions again and almost overwatered his plants.

“You’re from L.A,” Derek cleared his throat, deciding to ask a question after fielding so many of Stiles’.

“Yeah…why?” Stiles leaned his head against his elbow on the bench.

“Nothing.” Derek shook his head. “Just heard most assholes are from L.A.”

“Well, that’s true,” Stiles said. “I _am_ an asshole. There’s no doubt about that.”

“Then how the hell did you end up in Beacon Hills?” Derek furrowed his brows. “This town doesn’t get a lot of L.A tourists. Were you visiting a dying relative? The whole town is dying by the way.”

“I grew up in a town as small as this,” Stiles shared. “I thought I’d stop by while passing through. It’s funny because all my life I was so desperate to get out of that teeny tiny little town and actually make something of myself. But I find myself missing it more and more every day now that I have.”

He looked wistful as he seemed to remember something fondly then shook out of it and asked Derek, “You ever move anywhere else?”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded. “Me and my high school sweetheart, Kate, moved to Boston when she left for college. I never wanted to go to college but I followed her anyway and got a job at a dry cleaner. After a couple months she told me she was tired of my stupid ass dragging her down. She said needed to be with someone more on her level and broke up with me. So I tucked my tail between my legs and came back home and haven’t left since.”

“That’s not the only reason you’re still here though, is it?” Stiles looked alarmed. “Because she’s a total bitch and people like that don’t deserve even a morsel of input into the decisions you make in life! I hate people like that! L.A is fucking full of them.”

Derek chuckled, finding it amusing how quickly Stiles had jumped to his defense when they barely even knew each other. “No, it’s not why I’m still here. I like it here. My sister’s a big fashion designer in New York City and she nags me all the time about moving up there but I know my place will always be here.”

That seemed to peak Stiles’ interest. “Oh, have I heard of her? What’s her name?”

“Laura Hale.”

“Isn’t she like a household name or something? That’s rad, dude! What’s your other sister do?”

“Raises alpacas or sheep or llamas in South America,” Derek told him. “Doesn’t sound very big but she’s a huge exporter of wool.”

Stiles hummed. “So all three of you were born super talented and good-looking. I wish I was talented at something but I’m just plain and ordinary.”

Derek cocked his head, puzzled by that. “I think the last thing anyone would call you is plain and ordinary. You’re more like bizarre and deranged if you asked me. Everyone is talented at something. I’m sure you must have a hobby. What do you do for work?”

“Eh, you know one of those same old regular jobs,” Stiles brushed off. “Just the same old daily grind. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. I fought really hard to be where I am. But I’m ridiculously overpaid for a profession that many people can do and I’ve always been more amazed by people who _create_ things. Who have an extraordinary vision in their brain and manage to manifest it in real life. What I do is superficial and overrated in comparison.”

It always irked Derek when he heard other people talking down on themselves. As a tailor, he made clothes to build people up and help them find confidence. It was pointless if the wearer of his clothes wore them without spirit. Sure, appearances shouldn’t completely matter but looking good was one step towards feeling good. It irked Derek even more that it was Stiles talking that way. Derek barely knew him but could already tell that he was so wrong.

“Bullshit.”

“Huh?”

“I call bullshit,” Derek repeated. “There’s gotta be one thing you do that nobody else can.”

“Well…”

“Well?” Derek implored.

“I can drink anyone under the table,” Stiles confessed making Derek raise a brow. “In my profession, there’s a lot of parties and schmoozing involved and I’ve developed a rock solid liver that never fails. Never experienced a hangover a day in my life.”

When Derek had asked for a talent, he’d meant something like crocheting or being double-jointed, not having this self-proclaimed immunity to alcoholic beverages.

“Sorry to say but I know I could outdrink you,” Derek boasted. “Not only have I lived a lot longer than you have, I’m no lightweight.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles smirked. “Is there even a bar in this town?”

“Yeah but it closes at 7pm,” Derek told him. “Everyone in this town is retired and old. They’re not exactly putting on their geriatric dancing shoes and screaming, ‘Shots!’”

“As an esteemed graduate of the D.A.R.E program of America, I highly suggest that you bow out of this one,” Stiles advised him.

“You weigh like 152 pounds wet,” Derek detracted.

 _“D! I won’t do drugs!”_ Stiles sang. _“A! Won’t have an attitude! R! I will respect myself! E! I will educate me!”_

“I could outdrink you easily,” Derek said.

Stiles grinned. “Fine, then let’s get this party started.”

“Yes, let’s. You are going down.”

“Oh, you are _so_ going to regret this.”  
 

* * *

 

Derek awoke the next morning feeling like he had an elephant sitting on his head. There was pain. So much pain. _Unbearable pain_. He didn’t know it was possible for humans to experience this at such a level. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet but knew once he did that he might die. This was arguably one of the worst hangovers Derek has ever had in his life, but if there was any conciliation in it, it was that Stiles had to be experiencing the same fate.

They’d gone shot to shot at Esmeralda’s Salsa and Discotheque. Though the elderly liked to get to bed early, they certainly didn’t dilute their liquor with water. It didn’t take too many shots for Derek to be feeling tipsy or for Stiles to be out there on the dance floor with the old girl Esmeralda herself. The rest of the night was a blur but by the taste of death in his mouth, Derek guessed he must’ve thrown up at some point. Something he hadn’t done since when he was in high school, 22 years ago.

Derek bravely cracked an eye open but must’ve done it too fast because the pain rushed in faster than he’d intended for it too. He snapped his eyes shut again and buried his face into his pillow, only the pillow in his arms wasn’t actually a pillow, but another person.

“Oh, good you’re awake!”

Derek groaned loudly _in pain_.

“I was wondering when you’d be getting up. It’s already 12 o’clock in the afternoon.”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his brain needing to adjust to Stiles’ volume.

“You know, you should really consider getting a TV,” Stiles babbles on, not realizing how _in pain_ Derek was. “I’ve been up for a few hours now and I can’t tell you how bored I’ve been. Or maybe I can. Yes, I guess I should. I’m an amazing storyteller. I have one of those voices that really projects! Perfect for morning story time.”

Unfortunately, because he couldn’t do anything without doing it _in pain_ , Derek was forced to remain a hostage to this torture.

Stiles cleared his throat and began weaving his tale, “Once upon a time, there was a very hungover tequila monster and a not so hungover fairy prince. After a night of ill-advised binge drinking, the fairy prince woke up and found himself completely immobilized by the tequila monster. As much as he fought and tried to flee, the tequila monster had a viselike grip that was impossible to escape. So the poor, poor fairy prince had to suffer a terrible fate of overheating via human furnace, taking his morning piss in an empty water bottle—not nearly as relieving—and bravely fending off the tequila monster’s massive morning wood which didn’t feel very woody at all but more like a 10-foot metal rod.”

Derek would’ve rolled his eyes but that would’ve meant losing them forever if they went back into his head.

“Think this story has a happy ending?” Stiles asked. “Sorry folks! The tequila monster’s hangover overcomes him and the fairy prince dies from an aggressive cuddle session. Despite how cute that sounds, it is not the way I’d like to go!”

Derek loosened his grip on Stiles and croaked, “Water.”

“Already ahead of you there, dude,” Stiles said, handing Derek a water bottle and some aspirin. Derek drained the entire bottle as soon as he got it open. Stiles joked, “Dude, careful it’s not the one with my piss in it.”

Derek could barely manage a glare but pulled it off nonetheless because Stiles totally deserved it. He swallowed the aspirin dry, feeling dizzy after sitting up for so long and crashed back down onto the bed, pulling Stiles along with him and ignoring all his protests.

“No! No! Have you learned nothing from the moral of my story!”

“Sure,” Derek mumbled. “You hate cuddling and I’m too hungover to care.”

“I hate you!”

Stiles wiggled and squirmed in his arms, jabbing an elbow into the soft parts of Derek’s flesh until Derek fell onto his back and let Stiles drape over his chest. He’d always been told he was an aggressive cuddler, mainly by his sisters who hated having to share a bed with him, but this was definitely his first time cuddling with a client.

“This is your own fault,” Derek chastised. “Why are you in my bed anyway?”

“I would’ve slept on the couch but you have no other furniture,” Stiles said pointedly.

It was true. Derek rarely spent time in the loft above the shop, so there was nothing in there but a bathroom, an empty fridge, and a bed. He never used the stove because he couldn’t cook and would normally eat at Mrs. McCall’s Wildly Smiley Diner up the street which doubled as both a diner and a dentist office. There was a rotting chair for when his sisters would come to visit and needed a place to sit. It had a missing arm and a giant nail sticking out of it that was bound to give you Tetanus. A perfect excuse to end a visit early.

“How are you not hungover right now?” Derek questioned, smelling foul play.

“I told you,” Stiles muttered peeved as he squirmed and nestled his head under Derek’s chin. “It’s my talent.”

“But I saw you yesterday dancing with Esmerelda and you looked pretty damn drunk.”

“Nope,” Stiles replied. “That’s how I dance normally.”

Derek grimaced. “Well, it’s really embarrassing.”

Stiles' head shot up. “You want to talk about embarrassing? How about you doing body shots off Miss Patsy?”

“Eh, not the first time I’ve done that actually. Not even the first time this year,” Derek told him. “So, it’s not really as embarrassing as you doing the Macarena.”

Derek closed his eyes again, finally feeling some relief from the sharp twisting pain in his head thanks to the water and aspirin. He could’ve easily drifted back to sleep but knew it was impossible due to who he was currently lying in bed with. It wasn’t even Stiles that had ruined his peace and quiet. Stiles had been easier to control than he thought after a few empty threats of what would happen if he so much as moved a muscle. No, it was the buzzer to the loft ringing that had been his undoing.

At first, it had been one polite buzz, then another and another, then the person downstairs started mercilessly pounding on the button, making Derek’s loft go off like a panic room alarm. Derek shouted, covering his ears and felt like his head was going to implode. Stiles jumped to his rescue, leaping out from under the covers and running down the stairs to open the door for whoever it was. Maybe the mailman with an emergency package or the devil himself.

The knife stabbing pain in his head was back and not likely to be going away anytime soon. Derek got up, put some clothes on and went downstairs, following the voice of Stiles and another person chatting pleasantly in a foreign language.

He wasn’t at all surprised when he saw the culprit was C.O.P.L a.k.a the Crazy Old Polish Lady from yesterday. Although, she seemed to be having a much friendly exchange with Stiles than she’d had with Derek.

“You!” Crazy Old Polish Lady shouted when she spotted him at the base of the stairs. She pointed a shaky accusatory finger his way. “I come to get granddaughter’s dolly and find shop is closed! Trying to steal from me my expensive dolly?! I get discount now for catching you in scheme!”

Being that Derek was already in a pretty foul mood and this lady was one of the primary causes, Derek opened his mouth, fully ready to tell her to shove that doll up her ass and eat shit, when Stiles interfered.

“I’m so sorry about that, Urszula! Really, this was all my fault!” Stiles apologized, wrapping his arms around Derek’s torso and looking up at Derek sweetly. “I kept you up pretty late last night, right babe?”

Stiles nudged him to keep playing along. And sure, it was easier than telling C.O.P.L to shove it, but not nearly as satisfying. Derek hefted an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him closer as C.O.P.L looked back and forth between them. Trying their best to look like a couple wasn’t actually that hard seeing as they’d been cuddling in bed not too long before.

Crazy Old Polish Lady’s hand flew to her heart when the realization dawned on her as she cried, “No! Can’t be! Is boyfriend, Mieczysław?”

Derek frowned. “What’s a Mieczysław?”

“Me,” Stiles told him helpfully. “It’s my real name. Stiles was just a nickname I adopted when I started act—Er…well it’s not really important to go into the details right now, is it?”

Derek drawled, “Let me apologize again for your—”

“My parents don’t need you doing any of that for them!” Stiles shouted.

Something about their easy bickering must’ve been enough to convince C.O.P.L that they were legitimately a couple because she started vehemently shaking her head and speaking only to Stiles in Polish. Derek really hoped that whatever it was she was saying wasn’t anything nasty or homophobic. She was already on very thin ice with Derek and being rude to Stiles would absolutely get her banned from the store.

“Is bad, bad, bad, Mieczysław,” Crazy Old Polish Lady returned now to English. “You are much too good for rude nasty boy!”

“I know he seems mean but you can’t help who you fall in love with,” Stiles placated, placing a light kiss on Derek’s cheek which had Derek’s ears heating up a little bit. Stiles was putting on one hell of an act. “Trust me, he’s a sugar plum drop on the inside.”

“Ah, I see,” Crazy Old Polish Lady nodded as she glanced back and forth between them again. “Bad businessman is making you very happy with his penis. That is all that is mattering in the end.”

She smiled brightly at Stiles and leaned forward, pinching his cheek. “You are such sweet boy, Mieczysław,” she said then turned to Derek with a glare, “Now where is dolly’s fixed dress?”

“Where is my money first,” Derek demanded. “In US currency this time.”

“I see work before I am showing money,” Crazy Old Polish Lady said. “I must inspect quality. I do not trust you to do things the way I wanted.”

Derek was about to lose it. He couldn’t even muster the amount of patience Stiles was using in dealing with this old bag, “You know what, why don’t you inspect my—”

“I’ll go find it!” Stiles piped up. “Come this way, Urszula!”

She followed as Stiles pulled her away from Derek but never lifted her glare from him. Derek didn’t lift his glare either, not trusting her for a second. Stiles and C.O.P.L were speaking fast in Polish now but she seemed pleased enough with the job Derek had done. Finally, she forked over the money to Stiles and Derek hoped he would never have to see her _Crazy_ Old Polish Face again.

“Is so good finding nice Polish boy in town, although will have to find you better boyfriend,” the old lady was saying as Stiles led her back to the door, their arms linked together. “Tell me, who is boy and who is girl in the relationship?”

Derek’s head snapped up at the ignorant question, so fast it rattled his brain a little and made his hangover worse. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly but saw the expectant look on C.O.P.L’s face as if there was actually an appropriate answer to that question.

Stiles muttered under his breath, “Oh, Urszula, you problematic fave.”

Things were awkward until Derek spoke up, “I’m the girl!” He smirked as C.O.P.L scowled at him. “He fucks me since he’s scared of the size of my dick.”

“I am not scared of the size of your dick,” Stiles said affronted. “When have I ever said I was afraid of your dick?!”

“This morning when you likened my early morning erection to a large metallic object,” Derek supplied.

“That doesn’t mean I was intimidated by it or anything! I want to be the girl!” Stiles whined. “I like a challenge.”

“Too bad,” Derek tssked. “Sadly, we’re locked into these archaic heteronormative roles and will never be able to experience the beautiful thing that is being Verse.”

“Too bad indeed,” Stiles snickered, but it was worth the confused as hell look on C.O.P.L’s face as she left the shop.

 

* * *

 

After seven long weeks of meticulous designing, cutting, and sewing, Stiles’ tuxedo was officially finished. The tuxedo had turned out better than even Derek had expected and he couldn’t wait to see what it would look like on Stiles.

It would bound to be eye-catching for sure. Derek had done a good job of adding bits of Stiles’ personality into the ensemble. Knowing him so well now, Derek hadn’t wanted the tuxedo to look so formal since it was hard to take Stiles seriously with the way he acted. So, he’d kept the cut on the jacket pretty traditional while adding a light crème and black color scheme with a damask pattern to keep things young and vibrant.

At the same time, it was a little bittersweet to see the whole process come to an end. Derek had really enjoyed working on this particular suit. He loved getting a chance to express his creativity and wished he had opportunities like these more often. It also signaled an ending to his professional relationship with Stiles. That meant there would be no more annoying text messages from Stiles asking how things were going with his “baby” that then spurned into the most ridiculous text conversations about nothing at all. It probably wouldn’t be appropriate to text Stiles now that he was no longer a client, would it?

Regardless of that, Derek had made a wonderful suit for a wonderful person and hoped that when Stiles wore the full suit for the very first time, he knew how much he deserved it. If Stiles felt anything at all while wearing his suit, powerful, motivated, driven, invigorated, then Derek had done his job as a tailor.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Stiles screamed as he crashed into the tailor shop, the bell above the door signaling his arrival for his final appointment. “It’s actually finished? I can’t believe it’s finished! Oh my god!!!”

He was ten minutes early as per usual and bumbling with so much excitement to see the finished suit that he could hardly stand still. And even though Derek greatly disliked people that were early to appointments, he didn’t have it in his heart to make Stiles wait this time.

Moving to the back of the store and into the dressing room, Derek carefully handed Stiles all the pieces of the suit before Stiles disappeared into the stalls. There was a soft rustling of clothes that could be heard throughout the room as Stiles changed, giving the air a weird sense of finality.

When the door opened and Stiles walked out, Derek wasn’t prepared to be stunned silent. Stiles had transformed into a completely different person. He looked like a fucking movie star, not some punk underage degenerate. And the blinding smile on his face when he caught a look of himself in the mirror left Derek’s heart throbbing.

“Wow,” Stiles breathed shakily, as he turned and looked at himself in the mirror. “This is it…yeah…this is my perfect suit.”

His Hollywood smile wobbled then and the expression on his face slowly fell and grew sober. “You nailed it, dude,” he said to Derek. “It’s exactly what I came in here looking for.”

Derek nodded his head slightly in thanks. “I’m just happy to hear you say that you like it. Would’ve still charged you for the complete waste of my time if you hadn’t.”

Stiles let out an odd hysterical laugh at that, folding himself over as his whole body shook with giggles. However, Derek knew he wasn’t that funny and Stiles’ laughter seemed off. Unbalanced.

“Stiles, are you alright?” he asked, growing worried when it sounded like Stiles was hardly breathing through all the fits of laughter.

“Yes, of course, I’m alright.” Stiles kept laughing as large tears flowed from his eyes and he full on gasped for breath. “Don’t I seem alright?”

“No,” Derek said truthfully, “You don’t.”

“Good, because I’m not. Fuck, I’m really not.” The laughter died as sank down onto the floor sobbing and dropped his head in his hands. “All this fucking pressure. I’m on the verge of a fucking mental breakdown!”

Derek carefully walked over and got down on the floor with him, not wanting to spook him. He took Stiles’ hands in his and opened his arms up as Stiles clambered onto his lap, sniffling and crying on his shoulder.

“God, you probably think I’m a fucking crazy person. Because you made me this perfect tuxedo for this perfect moment that I’m not even sure I want anymore. I’ve got so many people counting on me and rooting for me and I know I should be grateful for their support but it’s overwhelming hearing them talk about me making history and being this big thing. Sometimes, I don’t want to be big. Sometimes, I just want to be a loser kid from a tiny town again.”

Derek was both very puzzled and concerned with what had come over Stiles. He wanted to make sense of the babbling but couldn’t. All he could do was hold him until the crying stopped and offer comforting words.

“Stiles,” Derek started gently, “I don’t know what kind of crazy pressure you’re under, but whatever it is, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t owe anyone shit. You don’t owe me shit either. You could burn the fucking tux I just spent 7 weeks making for you and I wouldn’t even care.”

Stiles picked his head up from Derek’s shoulder and lifted an eyebrow at that.

“Okay, I’d care a little bit,” Derek admitted. “But your happiness in your big moment comes first. Stop trying to fit all those other people up there with you.”

“You’re really good at giving these pep talks,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s neck then perked up, “Think you could write a super inspiring three-minute long speech for me?”

“I’m not doing your English homework for you, kid.”

“But I’ll just copy it and change a few things so it doesn’t look obvious,” Stiles whined.

“Up and at ‘em!” Derek patted his rump. Stiles stood and helped him up from the floor. “Now hurry up and get out of that suit before you dirty it or something.”

Stiles laughed and rolled his eyes as he walked towards the stall. “If you want me to do a strip tease for you, there’s easier ways to ask!”

 

* * *

 

Maybe Derek should’ve declined in doing the tuxedo for Stiles. It probably would’ve been better had he not indulged so much. Because now that it was all over, he was realizing more and more just how shit his life was. Day in and day out, it was the same stupid customers with the same dumbass requests, and Derek was losing all patience for it.

These days, he had no problem turning customers away. He had quite a bit of money on his hands now that he’d sold the tux and didn’t need to live by the cheap scraps of customers who wanted custom cup holders and monographed towels. He’d actually been a real tailor for a few weeks. A few great weeks. But now that it was gone, Derek had no idea what to do with himself.

It also didn’t help things that he hadn’t heard from Stiles much. He knew that theirs was supposed to have a “business relationship” but so many lines had blurred between him and Stiles and he found himself almost missing him in a way.

The last he’d gotten from Stiles was a text earlier that week telling him that the tuxedo was Lydia approved and that she wanted Derek to tailor a little doggie pantsuit for Prada. Talk about a kick to his pride. First doll dresses, now doggie pantsuits? My, my Hale Stitched Co. was certainly esteemed.

Even Laura seemed to be noticing his funk and had started Skype-calling him more frequently than usual. Laura was an extremely busy woman. So busy that sometimes she would wear a catheter because she couldn’t find time in her schedule to go to the restroom. Derek didn’t like the idea of her going out of her way just to check up on him. He was a 40-year-old man and was allowed to have a damned mid-life crisis without his big sister getting involved.

He expressed all of that to her in their latest Skype call.

“Well sorry for ever giving a shit about you,” Laura shot back. “You’ve been acting like an old dog who just got neutered for the past week now and I was worried you might be severely depressed. If you’d just told me that was what’s been going on with you, then I wouldn’t have to call you during my scheduled poop sessions. Mid-life crisis, huh? Man, I can’t wait for menopause!”

“It’s just been for the past few days,” Derek told her. “But tomorrow’s Monday and I’ll be able to shake it off to get a fresh start on the new week. So stop calling me when you should be pooping.”

“Hey, I could be doing both and just not telling you. You wouldn’t even know,” Laura teased.

Derek was about to end the call when an idea flashed in his head. One he thought he should bring up to Laura. “Hey, what do you think if I flew up to New York for a few days next month for your birthday? Would that be alright with you?”

His eardrums would never recover from Laura’s yelling and screeching, “Would that be alright?! All I’m ever doing is begging you to come visit me and on my birthday! What the hell brought this on?”

Derek shrugged. “I’ve actually had some profit coming into the store and figured one visit with you will get you off my back for about a year or so.”

“Oh, I see,” Laura laughed. “You’ve got ulterior motives but I’ll take it. I know how I’m always saying I love my life in the city, but still, I always miss some aspects of home. Getting to hang out with you being one in particular. And I owe everything to Hale Stitched Co. I don’t know where I’d be without it. I love that little shop but I want you to be happy too.”

Derek was very surprised at that. Laura was always talking about how fun and exciting her life was. She made it sound so full. Completely the opposite of Derek’s dreary days spent here. But he was gathering that no one’s life was perfect or completely full in every sense.

“I’ve got to go, baby bro! The Oscars are tonight and I’m up to my elbows in nipple pasties!”

Derek furrowed his brows. “The Oscars are still a thing?”

“Oh, baby brother,” Laura said solemnly, shaking her head. “It’s about time you come back to civilization.”

 

* * *

 

 

So much for a fresh start to his new week. Derek had overslept and missed opening the store on time. He only had two scheduled appointments for the day and most walk-ins didn’t come until late afternoon. But he wasn’t typically the kind of person that overslept or missed his alarm clock beeping, and after checking it, he saw that it hadn’t even been set. Wow, maybe he was depressed.

His growling stomach was what kicked him out from under the sheets and he got up and brushed his teeth. He took a quick shower and got dressed with less effort than he normally did, just wearing a crisp white dress shirt with a blue polka-dotted tie and silver tie clip, and black pants with beige suspenders.

 _Suspenders!_ For Derek, this was like walking around in sweatpants. He’d hit a new low.

Running so behind on schedule, Derek wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to make it to Mrs. McCall’s for breakfast since the diner became the dental office at lunch. A lot of the time, Mrs. McCall would leave a plate for him anyway, worried that she was his only food source which she in fact was. Derek was still determined to have a good week and he kept telling himself that as he grabbed his keys and headed down the stairs.

However, as soon as Derek opened the front door and stepped outside, those plans went right out the window once again. A sea of flashing cameras went off as reporters stuck microphones in his face. At first, Derek thought it was a dream and that he hadn’t actually woken up late but was still in some kind of intense nightmare where he was being eaten by paparazzi. Next, he thought it could be some elaborate prank by Laura since they all seemed to be calling his name. However, it wasn’t until one of the reporters mentioned Stiles’ name that things started to clear up.

“Mr. Hale, can we get a comment on whether or not you’re in a romantic relationship with famous actor Stiles Stilinski?” One of the reporters holding a microphone to his mouth asked.

“Huh?” Derek was straining to hear over all the other voices calling his name.

“What was it like getting to dress Stiles Stilinski for the Oscars? He seemed very thankful to you last night. So are you dating and is this where you two fell in love? Mason, get a shot from inside the storefront!” The reporter persisted, “Your comment, Mr. Hale!”

“Don’t—Don’t have one,” Derek stammered then turned tail back inside.

He slammed the door shut, making sure it was securely locked, then rushed upstairs in search of where he’d thrown his shitty laptop last night after his Skype call with Laura. He found it under the bed and powered it on but the damn thing wasn’t charged so he had to scramble to find the charging cable. His hands were shaking when he’d finally managed to get his damned technology working.

The very first thing he did was google Stiles’ name, and Stiles had been right. His was a name that no one could ever forget and with just one click, Derek had a slew of search results pouring in with information about Stiles. At the top of the screen, there was a bar with his latest news. Derek clicked on the first article and stilled once the page loaded and he saw a picture of Stiles standing on a stage wearing the tuxedo Derek had made with an Oscar in his hand. The title of the article reading, “Stiles Stilinski Makes Double-History as both the Youngest and First Openly Gay Best Actor Winner.”

Derek should feel betrayed right? He’d been lied to and kept in the dark for the past 7 weeks by someone he thought he was getting to know well. Then he’d been bombarded and attacked by paparazzi with no warning at all. Really, he should hate Stiles for being the typical L.A asshole. And yet, all he could do was jump up and down, hooting and hollering for him in amazement of this massive achievement.

He almost knocked his computer off the bed as he looked through more articles. Seeing his tux in major fashion magazines like Vogue and GQ was surreal. They’d also named Stiles best dressed and admired Derek’s detailing. Apparently, Stiles had been promoting the hell out of Hale Stitched Co. on the red carpet and even mentioned Derek briefly in his Oscar speech which was of course very long, spastic, inspiring, funny, and invariably Stiles.

Derek was just about to watch the speech again when a Skype call from Laura popped up on his screen and Derek answered it with dread.

“How. Could. You. Not. Tell. _Me!_ ” was the first thing Laura shouted at him. “Were you under a non-disclosure clause or something. Christ, you had to be for something like that! What the fuck, Derek! How’d you land such a high-profile client and not even tell me! I thought we were family!”

“I didn’t know,” Derek said hoarsely.

“What?” Laura leaned forward to hear him better.

“I didn’t know who he was,” Derek said again. “I didn’t know anything.”

“Oh,” Laura’s face fell. “Well, that’s not as fun. Anyway, how did you even get in contact with Stiles? A-List celebrities don’t just drop by Beacon Hills. Did you have an in with his stylist, Lydia Martin?”

“No,” Derek could only laugh at the irony. “I met her though. I’m serious, Stiles just showed up and begged me to make the tux for him. We ended up spending quite some time together and I thought…”

“What?” Laura asked. “What’d you think?”

“I don’t know, I thought we might’ve had something,” Derek admitted, annoyed now that he was hearing himself not making any sense. “We talked, got super drunk, and cuddled. He even signed the three-page contract to water my plants then almost killed them anyway.”

Laura’s eyes widened. “He actually read and signed that stupid contract? I hate that fucking thing. Any idiot can water plants, Derek! You’re a helicopter parent! You know, you could probably sell that contract for thousands if you’d kept it.”

Derek sighed. “I didn’t because I didn’t know. But I think he didn’t want me to know. I think he didn’t want me to treat him differently. I can’t imagine what his life must be like.”

“You have his number, don’t you?” Laura asked. “Aren’t you going to text him to say ‘Congratulations’ or ‘Thanks for the free promo’ or I don’t know, maybe ‘I’m madly in love with you even though you almost killed my plants’?”

Derek chuckled. “No, I’m not going to contact him. He’s out there being a big famous movie star and I’m just here in my shop in Beacon Hills. There’s no way that would’ve worked out.”

“But he thanked you in his speech,” Laura pointed out.

“So? He thanked a lot of people. He thanked Deadpool.”

“How could you not text a guy back that thanked you in his Oscar speech?” Laura pried. “Clearly, he likes you too, Derek, or you wouldn’t have been mentioned. I know once you’re set on something, it’s difficult to change your mind, but think hard on this one, okay?”

Derek nodded, running his fingers through his greying and overgrown hair and allowed himself to feel all the things he was feeling. Laura had to hang up and get back to work, but Derek still couldn’t leave because it was a media zoo outside.

So with nothing else to do and a whole lot of free time on his hands, he opened a new tab in his browser and typed in the name of Stiles’ movie. It didn’t take him long to find a high-quality illegal copy and he settled down back in bed to watch the pirated film, feeling like he’d found the fresh start to his week anyway.

 

* * *

 

Derek never ended up contacting Stiles despite Laura’s advice, but it wasn’t like Stiles had contacted him either. A whole month had passed since the whole ordeal. All the paparazzi and reporters had left, moving onto the next dumb celebrity scandal. Everything had returned to the way it should be and all was making sense again now that he and Stiles were living in their respective worlds.

He still went to New York for Laura’s birthday like he’d promised. The first thing she did when he got off the plane was club him over the head with her designer purse for being so stupid before hugging the living crap out of him. The trip was nice and with no computer screens between them, Derek could see that Laura had way more wrinkles and gray hairs in real life now that he could see them. Derek told her just that and got another club over the head by her designer purse.

When he’d gotten back from New York, Derek was surprised to find the shop’s voicemail full with calls from _real_ potential clients. Clients who actually wanted _real_ custom suits. One of the messages was from Jackson Whittemore who Derek knew was a rival actor to Stiles. He'd seen on a tabloid in the supermarket that the two had ' _bad blood',_ so he wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed with that.

Derek tried getting through all of the so he could call people back but couldn’t keep up. Hence why he’d had to hire Erica Reyes, a troubled high-school dropout who just moved to live with her grandparents, to be a part-time seamstress and receptionist. Erica was an excellent choice because she cared for customer service about as much as Derek did so it made him proud every time she snapped at a customer or made a grown man cry on his knees.

As for other new hire, Derek had brought Isaac Lahey on board, who was also living in the custody of his grandparents after having been taken away from his abusive father. Having Isaac working under him made Derek's life a heck of a lot easier. Isaac helped with the clients and absorbed everything Derek had to teach. He was very creative and constantly proved he was an excellent addition. Derek was thinking he might not even need one of Cora’s offspring to keep the shop going when he could pass it on to Isaac.

Now that they were so busy, Derek’s days passed by in a flash. Days of working with new clients and getting more and more opportunities to showcase his artistry. Derek still allowed one or two of the usual stupid requests from the town’s obnoxious elderly population, but he didn’t charge them anything now that he had more business than he could ever dream.

The only downside to having so many new clients was Derek’s short patience with the idiots who came in and had no idea how tailoring realistically worked. Erica wasn't any better. So they all learned that Isaac was a much better choice at handling first time customers. Kind of like the one now, who thought Derek could magically make a full bespoke tuxedo in twelve hours.

Derek had to let Isaac take over. He couldn’t deal with bumbling idiots today. He thought about the book Stiles had brought to his first consultation, _The Macho Guy’s Guide to Talking Man-to-Man with Your Tailor_ by Hulk Hogan and remembered he had it on a shelf in the loft somewhere. So, he headed upstairs to look for it so he could come back down and fling it at the center of the guy’s forehead.

Derek marched into the loft and went to the shelf he'd seen it on last. He didn't have his glasses on him so he had to squint as he rifled through his all his stuff. He held the book up victoriously over his head when he finally found it.

“Can’t wait to pummel this book into that idiot’s fucking left eye,” Derek grumbled bitterly to himself before hearing a cough from behind him that made him realize he wasn’t alone and probably shouldn't be speaking so openly about assaulting customers. 

Slowly, Derek turned around to face whoever it was that had snuck into his loft even though he already had a pretty good sense of who that person was. Although, he certainly hadn’t been expecting them in this current state.

Derek experienced a number of different emotions in less than a minute, each one playing out rather comically on his face. No one could blame him. He didn't even know what the right reaction to _this_ would be. He quickly adverted his gaze in case his eyes were playing tricks on him then looked back again but was met with more of the same.

And _lo and behold_ , there stood Oscar award winning actor Stiles Stilinski _stark naked_ in the middle of his loft.

“Seriously,” Derek cocked his head. “ _The Naked Man?_ ”

“Ladies and gentleman, he’s watched _How I Met Your Mother_!” Stiles gave him a big round of applause. “I thought you said you didn’t like watching TV or movies?”

“Well, I used to love watching TV before I saw how they ended _How I Met Your Mother_ and haven’t watched any other shows since to save myself from the utter disappointment.”

“But that’s just one show!” Stiles cried. “Not all shows are that disappointing? Can you even think of another show that disappointed you before that?”

“ _Lost_ ,” Derek said.

In fact, it was all he needed to say for Stiles to acknowledge his plight. But Derek didn’t want Stiles acknowledging his plight about shitty TV show finales. He wanted Stiles acknowledging why the hell he was even there.

In his loft.

 _Naked_. 

Derek had kept tabs on Stiles despite having not hearing from him and knew that Stiles was supposed to be in Rome filming a new movie. Making a movie seemed like it would take a lot of time out of someone’s schedule. Which was why it was strange that Stiles still somehow found time to pull these sorts of shenanigans. Then again, it _was_ Stiles.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Derek plain out asked, cutting the pleasantries. 

“I wanted to introduce you to my Oscar.” Stiles pouted, rocking back and forth nervously on his heels.

Derek’s eyes skimmed down to where Stiles held the gleaming gold trophy in between his legs to cover his bits then threw his head back and laughed loudly, “That has got to be one of the best innuendos I’ve ever heard.”

They could only laugh so long before the mood shifted over to one of awkwardness or about as awkward as you could get standing across from a naked guy holding a priceless trophy over his dick.

Stiles was the one to break the tension first, “I want to apologize for not being transparent with you about who I am and throwing you into all this media attention," he said sincerely. "I didn’t even realize what a dick move it was until Lydia pointed it out. I know how private you are and I should’ve been more considerate of that.”

“It’s actually all been very exciting,” Derek told him truthfully. Sure, the paparazzi had been terrifying at first but he'd gotten used to it and his life hadn't been the same ever since. “We have more business than ever and I’m even thinking about franchising. Maybe start by opening a shop in LA. I’ve gotten a lot of celebrity clients as of late.”

“Oh?” Stiles said with interest. “What celebrities?”

“That’s confidential," Derek said sternly. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’re not a psychiatrist. Who the hell are they?”

“Jackson Whittemore for one,” Derek said, smirking knowingly when Stiles blanched, looking repulsed. 

“Ewww, you’re really making a suit for that asshole?” Stiles grimaced. 

“Maybe," Derek mulled it over. "But don't worry if I do, I'll be sure to royally overcharging him. I also got a call from my celebrity crush Janelle Monáe."

“What do you mean celebrity crush?!” Stiles sputtered, glaring at Derek hotly. “I’m a celebrity. You should only have a crush on me!”

“You’re no Janelle Monáe. She’s a tailors wet dream,” Derek preserved before amorously looking Stiles' body up and down. “But you’re not without your charms.”

“Okay, I’ll take it,” Stiles said, turning his face away as he blushed. 

With Stiles being completely naked, Derek was starting to feel a little overdressed. And since every good tailor knows how to read the room and dress down accordingly, Derek sought to mend this situation, starting with tugging his tie loose from around his neck.

Stiles inhaled sharply. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my clothes off.” Derek unbuttoned his vest and dress shirt.

“Yes, but why?” Stiles asked.

“Because you have your clothes off...” Derek relayed.

“Oh. Crap!” Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face. “That wasn’t part of my plan.”

“What was your plan for showing up naked in my loft then?” Derek asked as he shucked off his pants.

“I don’t know,” Stiles cried, blushing a deep red now. “I didn’t really have one. But how am I supposed to focus now when my eyes can’t stop looking at your abs!”

“You’ll manage,” Derek chuckled, stepping out of his boxers.

After a while of just casually staring blatantly at each other's naked bodies, Stiles asked, "So…did you watch my movie? I had a nude scene in my movie.”

“I saw it.”

“And what’d you think?”

“About the nude scene or the movie?” Derek asked.

“Both.”

“Vernon Boyd definitely earned his Best Director award. The camera work was magnificent,” Derek critiqued. “As for Best Actor, I’m not sure the lead truly deserved it.”

“Excuse me!” Stiles gaped, offended.

“I just think there were better performances this year," Derek tried to clarify. "Like Jackson Whittemore for instance.”

“Bullshit!" Stiles scoffed. "I put everything into that performance!”

Derek yawned, singing, “Overrated!”

“Overrated? Overrated!" Stiles poked a finger into Derek's chest. "I’m the youngest Best Actor winner ever and also the first openly gay Best Actor winner, opening doors for my fellow LGBT thespians!”

“If you say so,” Derek's smile breaking out into a wide grin. He was glad to see that Stiles wasn’t downplaying his talents and achievements like had before.

Stiles just scowled at him, muttering, “I don’t even know why I want you as my boyfriend if you’re gonna be completely unsupportive.” His eyes widened as if he'd just realized what was coming out of his mouth and slapped a hand over it as if he could force the words back in. “Uh, I mean…No, yeah. That’s exactly what I mean. Did you watch my speech? I mentioned you in my speech.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, I watched it.”

“And what’d you think?”

Derek shrugged. "Too wordy for my taste." 

“You’re the worst!” Stiles cried but didn’t resist when Derek laughed and pulled him close, dropping a kiss against his hairline. “Okay, now it’s your turn to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Derek asked as he trailed a thumb along the map of moles on Stiles’ neck and collarbone.

“This!” Stiles shouted exasperatedly. “Us!”

“What’s there to talk about?” Derek teased but relented when he saw how genuinely nervous Stiles was. He wasn't sure why. Stiles should definitely be more confident in this seeing as he'd shown up to Derek's loft naked like he was offering himself up on a silver platter. The kid had chutzpah. “Of course, I want to be with you, Stiles.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, his big brown eyes going extremely soft as his worry melted and he was left grinning hard. “That’s good seeing as you’re probably my favorite person ever.”

Derek huffed, ruffling his hair. “I guess you’re a favorite of mine too, even though you can be a real pain in the ass.”

“I want you to carry my babies," Stiles ribbed, lacing their fingers together. 

“While that is not biologically feasible, I totally understand what you mean," Derek skillfully interpreted. "Yes, we can adopt another plant but college tuition is getting expensive, you know.”

“I’ve never felt this way before," Stiles said, fidgeting and nervous again. If they were doing this for real, then Derek was going to do everything to ensure Stiles would never be insecure in this again. "I’ve never fallen for anyone so fast. I just…I really, really want this.”

“Ditto,” Derek shot pack, pulling Stiles into a perfect yet unbelievably frustrating kiss for two people who were already completely naked. Stiles' mouth felt phenomenal against his, reckless and eager. His teeth nibbling on Derek's neck and ear sent shivers all throughout him. It wasn't long before they were panting and breathless and stumbling back towards the bed. 

 

* * *

  

"Oh, so we're actually doing this?" Stiles pulled away, breathing heavily. "You don't think it's too soon? This wasn't in my plan." 

 "What the hell was the plan for showing up at my loft fully nude then, Stiles?!" Derek looked at him incredulously. 

* * *

 

Stiles wasn’t a prisoner in his arms and Derek woke up to a surprisingly empty bed the next morning which was disappointing. He wondered how the hell Stiles had even managed to unwound himself when he’d been wrapped up pretty snug the night before. Derek would just have to note this occurrence and would make sure that an escape of this magnitude wouldn’t happen again in the future.

He needed to be up anyway to open the store, so he rolled out of bed, brushed his teeth, and hopped into the shower. He didn’t take too long getting dressed since he wanted to see just where Stiles had run off to. Erica and Isaac were probably already downstairs, doing preparations for the day and Derek hoped to god that Stiles wasn’t trying to help them. He’d only make a mess of things.

Nothing seemed to be broken or on fire downstairs which was a sigh of relief. Erica was already at the counter flipping through magazines and ignoring the telephone as it rang. She also wasn’t dressed in the uniform which Derek was going to have to reprimand her for. But he was more curious as to why she was wearing a t-shirt with a giant picture of Stiles’ face on it.

“I’m his biggest fangirl!” Erica explained excitedly. “When you keel over and die of old age in like the next two years, I’ll be there to help him mourn your passing and will slowly take your place!”

He had no doubt she could make it happen, his untimely demise and all. “You seen Stiles?” he asked her after she was done fangirling out.

“Yeah, he’s in there helping a customer,” Erica motioned to the dressing room.

“He’s what?” Derek halted.

“Some old guy came in here for leg warmers and Stiles convinced him to get a suit customized.”

“And just whose altering this suit for this older gentleman?”

“He said he is. He’s amazing at everything, don’t you know?” Erica gushed then asked, “Hey, you think you could get your boyfriend to sign my boobs?” 

Choosing to walk away from her then, Derek turned on his heels and headed toward the dressing rooms, hearing quite a bit of commotion going on in the back.

“Suck that gut in, Auggie! Suck it in!” he heard Stiles screaming. “You better flex those biceps, Auggie! I know you’ve got ‘em!”

None of this was sounding like a suit fitting but more like a really bad personal training session. Derek wasn’t even too sure if he wanted to be a witness to this but bravely reared the corner anyway. What he saw when he entered the room, well he couldn’t even describe it, because what he saw was…himself.

Yes, indeed, it was himself that he was supposed to be viewing because Stiles was mimicking him. Weren’t actors after all just great mimics? Stiles had hit the nail on the head with this one. It was like Derek was looking into a mirror. Stiles had on a similar suit vest and pant set to the one Derek currently had on and had Derek’s glasses perched high on his nose and a handy pencil behind his ear.

August McDougall, one of Derek’s longtime clients patiently stood in the middle of the room while Stiles circled around him, measuring random limbs and giving horrid tailoring directives. First of all, no tailor ever wanted a client to suck their gut in or flex as they wanted to fit as best as possible to their natural posture. So while Stiles was a good mimic, he definitely’ wasn’t the real thing.

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek finally spoke, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorjamb, trying his hardest not to laugh when Stiles jumped like a little kid caught stealing cookies.

“What am I doing? Why I’m customizing a suit for my longtime client Auggie here!” Stiles said in this weird mob boss accent. “Drop Trou, Auggie. Our work is done for the day, ol’ boy.”

He was in love with a crazy person.

“You little weasel,” Derek accused when August disappeared into one of the stalls to change. “You trying to steal my job out from under me?”

“I’m researching for a role,” Stiles said as he must’ve forgotten that he’d told Derek that he could use that excuse to get out of anything.

“And what’s the role?” Derek questioned.

“I can’t tell you because it’s all really top secret,” Stiles said, probably forgetting that he’d told Derek he used that one a lot too. “Let’s just say mysterious gay pirate tailors making pants for mermaids. Just your typical family-friendly film.”

Derek chuckled and grabbed Stiles by his hips, pulling him in and dropping a fierce kiss to his lips. “Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“Really now?” Stiles draped his arms around Derek’s neck, smiling as he kissed him back in return.

“Yup,” Derek assured. “You’ve got me on pins and needles.”  
 

**Author's Note:**

> subscribe to my [ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jadore_hale/profile) for more of my fics! follow my [tumblr](http://jadorehale.tumblr.com/) or my [twitter](http://twitter.com/jadore_hale/) for explicit post about porn and pizza. (this is totally false advertising)
> 
> (follow [Sixspades](http://sixspades.tumblr.com/) too!!)


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